Since I always take my time getting to my point, I’ll state it early in this post: I scored a goal. I was the only one on our team to score. I scored half our points.
I know, I know. You are reading that last bit about me only scoring half our points, but yet earlier I brag that I was the only one on our team to score. You’re thinking that something just doesn’t add up. And you are right. But now I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning:
I was working very, very late last Wednesday night. Since our game that night started at 9pm I was strongly considering not attending. Alas, that wasn’t an option as my wife pleaded with me on the phone to “not let our teammates down”. The ironic thing about that statement is that it is just as true on a really bad team as it is with a really good team. Misery loves company and if you jet from a bad team, chances are, the rest of the team jets with you. So if you are playing on the Houston Stinkinators then, damn it, show up each and every game so as to revel in your team’s putriscity with the rest of your teammates. It’s a bonding experience at least.
So I end up changing in the car on the ride over to the indoor soccer match. When was the last time you were butt nekid in a moving car? Me? Last week, a couple of minutes before our soccer game. We were sitting at a red light at 8:55pm (so at least it was dark outside) and I had just taken off my boxers to put on my briefs when a Semi pulls up alongside us and stops as said light. Semis are tall, so the driver had me at an uncomfortable angle. Now I know that the trucker in there probably wasn’t looking, and even if he/she was, probably couldn’t see anything. But, I bet, if they were looking and trying hard to see something, then they would notice that the dim luminescence of the red stoplight was just enough radiation to make out my jangly bits. I figured that the less I moved, the less attention I called to myself. So I just sat there in my seat with nary a stitch on from the waist down. If that driver did detect my delicate parts then I bet I made for a fine story at the late night truck stop where all of teamsterdom listened to the strange tale of the SUV passenger that rode barebackside.
| Simulated CB Chatter HoundDog: “Breaker, breaker two-ninety, have I got a story for you!” CapnCrunch: “Rodger that, story time!” Brunhilda: “HoundDog, I got your twenty, gimme your story” HoundDog: “There is a man sitting in his car next to me with no britches on! Over” Brunhilda: “What do you mean by ‘britches’, no pants?” CapnCrunch: “Strike that story, HoundDog, I have a Charlie on my tail” HoundDog: “No pants at all, the man’s genitalia are glowing under a red light. It’s like a train wreck, I can’t help but stare – but I don’t wanna. Over” CapnCrunch: “Charlie’s got me! I’m going down!” Brunhilda: “Great story Houndy, now I’m gonna lay down some suppressing fire for the Capn!” |
So when we make it to the game we have a plethora of people in attendance. Throughout the game I was able to take time out and rest, as there was always someone there that could spell me. (Not a hard thing to do, mind you.)
Well our second week enemy was much, much better than our first week opponent where we lost 19-7. So you would think that a better team would make for even less fun – but that wasn’t the case. Since the better team was more comfortable with less of a lead, they didn’t try to run up the score as much. We ended the game with the score 15-2 (actually the scoreboard read 15-16, that we won, but I’ll get to that in a bit.) Even though the difference in score was about the same from game one to game two, the second week team just played looser. They were more fun.
Okay, here comes the point of this post now, so pay attention here.
We could not score on this team. Their goalie was just too good. Every once in a while when I would stop panting and actually had some energy to sprint a bit, I would attack their goal. Since our team is out of shape, typically we would have only two people attacking the goal at any given time. With their goalie and two of their defenders, our two attackers never had a chance.
Well, one of those times I charged down there with two other players, so we had three people attacking at once. The ball was being passed behind me several times via my teammates and I don’t really know what happened to cause this – but there I stood, ball at my feet, goal straight ahead about four feet away, and nary a goalie or defender to be seen. I reached down and grabbed a handful of carpet and threw it up into the air to see which way the wind was blowing (it wasn’t – we were inside), I got down on my knees to read the lay of the goal, then I got back up took six steps back and two to the side, and then I ran and kicked that ball straight into the goal for my team’s first goal of the night.
You would have thought we had won the World Cup with that score. My team erupted with cheer and carried me off the field on their shoulders. On the bench we gave each other Champaign showers and I was interviewed by Bryant Gumbal on just what that goal felt like. (I responded that I couldn’t have done it without my teammates – though I didn’t mean it.)
After the gleeful celebration, we once again reverted to patheticness. But so did the other team. In a fit of… I don’t know what, something though… In a fit of something, the other team managed to score a goal on themselves. I don’t really know what happened, I just looked downfield and saw a ball lallygag into their goal – and none of my teammates were anywhere near it. Someone told me that the ball just got lose from their goalie and bounced off one of their players and ricocheted into their goal.
The owner of the facility thought that their goal on themselves was enough to justify giving us 15 points. So at the end of the game the score was 16-15, Ballas win!
1 comment:
I hope you can feel my envy from 200 miles away. Blast you! I havn't played soccer in years. Arr.
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